


mile high

by gracieminabox



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 12:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11275578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieminabox/pseuds/gracieminabox
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy bring new meaning to the term "connecting flights."Written for a beloved Tumblr friend's birthday. Pure tooth-rotting fluff with no redeeming features whatsoever.





	mile high

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we ask that you find your seat quickly and keep the aisle clear so that your fellow passengers may board and we can give you an on-time departure…”_

Len leaned over the toilet and hurled again, this time unable to keep a moan of agony from escaping.

Undergraduate and doctoral degrees in psychology, a medical degree, five specialty and subspecialty board certifications - you’d think he’d have been better able to control his anxiety. Unfortunately, Len was just one of those people who found his anxiety exponentially heightened by knowing about its physiological and psychological underpinnings.

(Joss once implored him to “see someone” about it. He did. His _shrink_ wound up with aviophobia.)

_“Ladies and gentlemen, please remember that your carry-on luggage must fit in the overhead bin with room to spare, and you may keep your small personal item, such as a purse or laptop, under the seat in front of you…”_

Len retched. Apparently, he had nothing left to come up.

There was a rapping on the door. “Sir?” Len ignored her; then, another rapping. “Sir, we need you to take your seat.”

_Can’t nobody read the damn “occupied” sign?_

Then, to his horror, the flight attendant and her master key unlocked the door and looked at him pointedly. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the lavatory and take your seat.”

Len looked up at her miserably. “I suffer from aviophobia,” he spat. “It means fear of _dying_ in something that _flies_.”

The flight attendant raised a manicured eyebrow. “Mmhmm. Well. You can have your fear just as easily from seat 22D. Come with me, sir.”

Len winced, then followed her with leaden feet. As they approached seat 22D, the plane gave a great lurch and started taxiing, pitching Len forward and giving him no choice but to vomit - or attempt to; again, nothing left to come up - right on the poor sap unlucky enough to be in seat 22E.

“Oh, Jesus,” 22E mumbled not unkindly, accepting the flight attendant’s proffered wet wipes and holding out an airsick bag for Len.

Len wanted very badly to go back to the lavatory, crawl directly into the tiny hole of a toilet in there, and _die_. “Oh, good,” he muttered, “because you know I wanted to mortally embarrass myself today.”

“You okay, pal?”

 _“Do I look okay?”_ Len sniped mildly between heaves.

A gentle hand landed on Len’s back, right between his shoulderblades, and began to rub comfortingly. “Takeoff and landing are a bitch; once we’re in the air it won’t be so bad.”

“Unless we get struck by lightning,” Len countered. “Or the pilot has a damn heart attack. Or we encounter that great catch-all, _mechanical failure_. Or about a dozen other scenarios I could mention.”

“Unlikely scenarios all, and you give me the impression of someone who already knows that,” 22E answered. The rubbing continued, and the world slowly started to right itself before Len’s eyes. “Just breathe,” 22E said gently. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Len finally chanced looking up at his impromptu therapist, and… _oh. Oh my_.

“Well, damn if that ain’t the brightest blue I’ve ever seen in my life.”

22E grinned back, and his teeth matched his eyes in sheer brilliance. “I get that a lot.”

“I bet you do.”

22E kept rubbing his back. “You doing better?”

Len took a couple deep breaths, then nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly, “suppose so. Thanks for the support.”

“No problem.”

“I didn’t, uh…” Len gestured vaguely. “I didn’t throw up on you, did I?”

“Well, not for lack of trying, I don’t think,” 22E answered wryly. “Why in the world are you flying someplace, anyway? Seems you’d be the kind to cling to terra firma with your nails dug in.”

Len nodded. “The only person on god’s green earth I’d set foot on a plane for is my daughter. My ex-wife and her new husband are taking Jo to San Francisco for her birthday. Can’t remember the last time the ex actually requested my presence anywhere, and, well, it’s my baby girl.”

22E nodded. “How old is she turning?”

Len took out his phone and pressed the screen on, showing a gap-toothed, auburn-haired angel on a swingset. “Seven.”

“She’s a beauty,” 22E said with a smile.

“She’s her momma,” Len said.

“Nah,” 22E responded, “she’s got your eyes.”

Len looked back at the phone and smiled. “Yeah, she does.” He looked back up at his seatmate. “I’m Leonard McCoy, by the way.”

22E grinned again. “Jim Kirk.”

“And what are you doing on your way to San Francisco, Jim Kirk?”

“Best man duties,” Jim answered.

“Brother or friend?”

“Surrogate father.”

Len crinkled his brow. “I’m guessin’ there’s a story there.”

Jim shrugged. “It’s a long flight. We’ll get to it eventually.” Jim nodded back at the screen. “Tell me more about your girl. Jo, was it?”

Len smiled down at the picture. “Joanna,” he began.

 

~~~

 

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into San Francisco International Airport. Please turn off and stow all electronic devices and ensure seat backs and tray tables are…”_

Somehow - as long as he lived, Len would never quite understand exactly how - in those five hours in the air, Jim Kirk had wiggled his way into Len’s heart, and it looked damn near to a permanent arrangement. Len had told Jim about Jo - and about Joss, and about Clay, and about infidelity and hospital ethics boards and suspended licenses and reluctance to date again. He even cracked the seal around his heart and told Jim about his father, not even realizing he was doing so until the words were already spilling off his tongue.

Jim responded in kind, telling Len about his dad’s death, his asshole stepfather, his complicated relationship with his mother, and the family he’d more or less established for himself, scrapped together from classmates and family friends and old professors. Hardly topics of conversation one would ordinarily share with the guy in the next seat on the plane, but…Len didn’t know how to explain it. There was _something_ about Jim.

Len buried his head back between his legs during the descent, trying not to vomit up the ginger ales he’d just downed; Jim put his hand back between Len’s shoulderblades, then whispered, “Hey. Where’s your phone?”

Len handed it to Jim without looking up.

Jim fiddled with it, then stuck it back in Len’s field of vision. His lockscreen, the smiling picture of Jo, greeted him.

“Why you’re doing this,” Jim said. “Why flying all the way out here is worth it.”

A wave of fierce gratitude flowed over Len. He looked at Jo’s picture - her hair, her grin, her eyes - and thought about seeing her in just a few short hours.

It got him all the way to the gate.

 

~~~

 

“Listen,” Jim said lowly, barely loud enough to hear over the unclicking of seatbelts and the opening of overhead bins. “I’m in New York, you’re in Atlanta, we’re both in San Francisco for just a couple of days. I don’t know if I’m gonna see you again and…well, something tells me I’d like to.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Len’s face. “Me too, Jim.”

Jim bit his bottom lip. “You think you might have time out here to sneak away for a few hours…be my date to a wedding?”

Len’s heart rate quickened. “Your pseudo-father won’t be pissed? You invitin’ an uninvited guest?”

“You have no idea how much capital I have with Chris and Phil,” Jim answered with an enigmatic smile. He handed over a business card. “Saturday night. Call me. I’ll give you the address.”

Len took the card; their fingertips brushed. “I will. Thanks.”

Jim reached down and collected his laptop bag. “Your first date in five years,” he said. “You nervous?”

Oddly, Len wasn’t. “Should I be?”

Jim just gave another enigmatic smile. “See you Saturday.”

**Author's Note:**

> For Jules - happy birthday, dearest!


End file.
